Calculated in Death (In Death #36)(56)

“It’s all over the screen, the Internet. I’ve already watched it a half a dozen times. Are you all right? It looked like you went down pretty hard.”

“I’m fine.”

“Amazing. Just amazing. That little boy . . . Who would do something like that? He’s not even two.”

“Did they get a shot of the guy who threw him?”

“Not that I’ve seen. There are a couple of different angles where people caught the catch, and one that’s from some security angle I think. I’ve never seen anything like it. You should come sit down, let me get you something. Coffee, some water. Some champagne.”

“Thanks all the same. I just want a quick word. Are your partners here?”

“Yeah, we’re about to head over to the new building. It’s cleared, and we’re meeting the designer about a couple details. Come on back, and I’ll get them. The reports weren’t clear, just that you were chasing this man, and he injured some pedestrians, then tossed that little boy. What did he do, I mean before that?”

“Killed Marta Dickenson.”

Newton stopped, eyes wide again. “Oh my God. Who is he? Why did he kill her? Did you catch him?”

“If I could speak with all three of you?”

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. It’s so . . . so everything.” He led her into the little conference room. “Have a seat. Give me just a minute.”

She stood as she’d already discovered during the drive over that sitting wasn’t her friend.

Jake came in first, moving fast, face wreathed in smiles. “Superwoman! Sign her up! Mega-maniac catch. We were all, ‘Man! We know her.’ You caught the kid when you were chasing a murderer. It was like third and goal.”

“They said the little boy’s just fine,” Whitestone put in. “Just some bumps and bruises. Were you really chasing the person who killed that woman?”

“I believe so. He’s white, about six four and two-fifty. Broad shoulders, big hands. Square jaw.” Or so she believed with the very brief glance she’d managed. “Sound familiar?”

“That’s pretty big.” Whitestone lifted his shoulders as he glanced at his partners. “I don’t know anybody, personally, who sounds like that.”

“Do you remember seeing anyone who fits that description around your new building. Or this one?”

“I don’t.” Whitestone eased a hip onto the table. “Rob said you were chasing him. Do you have a name, a photo?”

“Not yet, but I will. I imagine you often go to the client rather than the client coming to you.”

“Sure.”

“Then I’ll ask all of you.” She nodded toward Newton and Ingersol. “Do you remember anyone who fits that description at or around either Alexander and Pope or Young-Biden?”

“I—” Newton hesitated, scrubbed a hand over his hair. “I don’t honestly know. I don’t know if I’ve paid any attention. I don’t understand. Young-Biden’s a solid company, one of our biggest accounts. You don’t really believe they’re involved in a murder?”

“I keep an open mind. How about you? You’re in charge of those accounts,” she asked Ingersol.

“They’ve got some big guys, I guess. Security, maintenance. And Mr. Pope’s admin’s a tall one. Yeah, easy six four, but I don’t think he’s that big. Leaner than two-fifty. If this is about the murder, their audit’s really just a formality. An internal check, really. From my end, their finances are in very good order.”

“From your end,” Eve repeated. “What if an audit turns up a problem, a discrepancy?”

“I can’t imagine it will.” He sort of bounced to the friggie, took out a power drink. “If it did, it would depend on what kind of problem or discrepancy. Rob and Brad will tell you, audits sometimes, a lot of times, turn up a couple little things, a different interpretation of some tax code, or a payment or withdrawal coming out or going into the wrong pocket. That kind of thing’s easily resolved.”

“What about something not so easily resolved?”

He shook his head. “I can’t see it in these accounts. If something big was off, I’d have found it, or the accountant would, or the tax lawyers. Somebody.”

“It’s why we coordinate,” Whitestone told her. “Why we work with their accountants, their legal department, and why they work with us. Checks and balances, and minimizing time, maximizing profit.”

“All right.”

“We think it might be corporate espionage.” Whitestone spread his hands as Newton sighed at him. “That’s what we’ve been talking about since we heard about the break-in at Brewer’s,” he insisted. “It sounds like somebody hired somebody to access all those files, and maybe the Dickenson woman was part of it. I know she’s dead, and that’s terrible. But we’ve been told several files were taken. It sounds like a big operation looking to access and analyze data, trying to undermine competitors.”

“That’s a theory.”

“But not yours,” Whitestone said.

“No, not mine. Just taking the two companies I asked you about, they’re not in the same businesses or areas. They’re not competitors. They don’t have anything in common, except you and Brewer. So . . . Thanks for your time.”